


Five Golden Rings

by spikesgirl58



Series: Down the Chimney [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 06:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: Christmas to Napoleon was round. There were presents round the tree, halos around the heads of the little family in the manger, wreathes, and so on. Napoleon saw circles everywhere, even around the lights when he looked at them without his glasses on.





	Five Golden Rings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemirovitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemirovitch/gifts).



_Now_

 

To Napoleon each holiday seemed to have a shape that symbolized the season. Valentine’s Day, there was a heart and the Fourth of July, it was definitely flag shaped.  Easter had an egg and no one could deny that Thanksgiving was more shaped like a turkey.  However Christmas, Christmas to Napoleon was round.  There were presents round the tree, halos around the heads of the little family in the manger, wreathes, and so on.  Napoleon saw circles everywhere, even around the lights when he looked at them without his glasses on.

He put the back on and caught sight of his reflection in a nearby window. He sighed.  When had he become this old?  Inside he still felt thirty and though he acted younger than his years, but there were times like now that he felt very old indeed.

He glanced over at the fireplace, its flames crackling merrily, and tried to take heart. Illya had promised he’d be home by Christmas and over the years, Napoleon knew that he could count on the Russian’s words.  Still, even his stout-hearted Russian couldn’t control the weather.  While the steadily falling snow was lovely and guaranteed a white Christmas, Napoleon also feared it would mark their first Christmas apart in many years.

Napoleon poured himself a little brandy and studied the fire through the amber liquid. Then he sipped and swallowed, smiling as the alcohol warmed him from the inside out.

 

_1958_

 

How many years they had spent in each other’s company and in each other’s arms. It made Napoleon a little sad to think that the weather managed to do what nothing else had – kept them apart.  He put his feet up and looked over at a rather garish wreath of round Christmas ornament.  A gift like no other.

“What are you doing with that?” Napoleon demanded as Illya set the wreath down of his desk.

“I am forced to participate in something absurd thing called Secret Santa of all things.”

“You make it sound like a death sentence.”

“For me, it is. What do I know what constitutes a good gift for someone?  This is all very new to me.”

“You must have celebrated Christmas before this.”

“Yes, but a European version of it. You Americans, you do things very differently here.”

“Well, I can’t argue with the validity of your statement. So, tell me why you choose this?”

Illya took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack. He mumbled something that even Napoleon’s sharp ears couldn’t pick up.  “I’m sorry, Illya, what did you say?”

“I said that I bought it because I liked it. It’s bright and it was catching all the lights.”  He touched one of the ornaments carefully, as if it would explode.  At that moment, Napoleon realized just how gentle Illya could be.  He’s watched those huge hands strangle the life from an enemy, dig with a fervor to escape a prison cell.  They had punched, scrabbled, clawed and fought their way to freedom, but never once had Napoleon ever considered Illya to have a gentler side.  Now, transfixed by the colorful reflections, even just the office lights reflected upon the glass surfaces hypnotized his new partner.

“You must be part raven,” Napoleon joked, smiling as Illya’s head bobbed up, obviously confused.

“I’m afraid that I don’t understand.”

“They like shiny things, too.”

“Do you like it, Napoleon?” The question was so hopeful that a sarcastic response would have caught in his throat and made Santa shake his head with disapproval.

“I do and I’m sure whoever gets it as a gift will cherish it, not just because it’s lovely, but because it was something that touched you and that you gave it from the heart.”  

 

Later that afternoon, the Christmas party started to ramp up. More and more UNCLE employees began to trickle in and Napoleon watched hopefully for his partner to join them.  While Illya wasn’t much for parties, he did like food and there was a bounty of it. 

“Sandra, have you seen Illya… Mr. Kuryakin?”

“I heard that he is working so that someone else could attend the party. Isn’t that sweet of him?  Isn’t he just the greatest?”

“He’s working?”

“Reception, I think. He said that this wasn’t much of a holiday for him, so it wasn’t fair that he should have it off and someone else would miss out.”

“Time for Secret Santa!” The head of Section 3 was wearing a fairly hip Santa outfit and half of the secretarial staff was dressed up as elves. He started announcing names and the elves happily doled out the gifts.  When it came his turn, Monica slipped the carefully-wrapped gift into his hands and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Napoleon. I hope Santa brought you something sweet.”

Napoleon looked at the box and knew he didn’t have to unwrap it. He remembered the long process back in their shared office as Illya wrapped and rewrapped the box, determine to make everything perfect. 

“What did you get, Napoleon?” Nelson from Section 6 leaned in close to catch a glimpse.  Nelson was the perpetual joke giver.  His gift of edible undies last year had very nearly gotten the entire Secret Santa banned by Mr. Waverly.  It had only been when Nelson promised to not participate that the old man had relented. Now it was said that he was advising some of the junior agents.

“Something perfect – Christmas wonder.”

“What? Christmas wonder?  What the hell is that?”  But Nelson was talking to empty air.  Napoleon was headed to the buffet.  The man shrugged his shoulders and went on to someone else.

 

Illya looked up from the book he was reading when Napoleon exited from the elevators, carefully balancing a ray of Christmas goodies. He brightened up at the sight, then colored slightly to see his partner carrying his gift.

 “Aw, the party is in full swing, I take it.”

“It is.” Napoleon passed him a tray.  “I thought you’d appreciate some sustenance.  Any real Christmas cheer will have to wait until we’re both off duty.”  Napoleon pulled out a small package from his pocket.  “And this yours, too.”

“Should I open it or save it? I only ask because you haven’t opened yours yet.”

“I know what’s inside, so I will unwrap it when I get home. That way it will stay protected.  “You can unwrap yours, though.”

Inside the box was a ticket. Illya frowned as he read it, then his expression lightened.  “How did you get this?”

“I have a friend in the cast. I figured seeing The Nutcracker would bring a little Russia here for you.  I understand that guy is pretty good.”

Another smile. “Yes, Nureyev is pretty good. Thank you.”

“Not me, your Secret Santa.” Napoleon then he pointed upward at a sprig of mistletoe that hung over the secretary’s desk.  Abagail was big on kissing.  “That’s another Christmas tradition here.”

“That one I know about… as does nearly all the female staff here.” Illya touched his lips tenderly.  “I hope they haven’t bruised them permanently.”

Suddenly Napoleon kissed him, a risky venture given that anyone could come in at any moment. He pulled away and grinned at Illya’s shocked expression.  “Merry Christmas, Illya.”

“You kissed me.”

“Well, Christmas is all about surprises.”

 

_Now_

 

That was how it all started, with that simple kiss. The more Napoleon thought about it, the more he couldn’t get it out of his mind.  The feeling of Illya’s lips on his, the clear surprise in those very blue eyes and better yet, the fact that Illya didn’t deck him.

After that, he went out of his way to get his hands on his partner. He helped to adjust clothing and brushed non-existent lint from his lapels.  He would touch Illya to convey just about everything, caution, concern and even humor.  For his part, Illya never seemed to mind.  Nor did he reciprocate at all.  As time when on, Napoleon felt he was barking up the wrong tree and sadly admit to himself that Illya simply didn’t feel the same.

So then he started carefully detouring any young lovely who happened in Illya’s direction. Napoleon was smooth and a gifted talker, where Illya was quieter and tend to take more time.  There were a few times where he simply jumped in to keep Napoleon from taking the upper hand, but most of the time the blond would simple sigh and attack the next task.

 

_1964_

 

Christmas was once again fast approaching and THRUSH had kept them busy. For one reason or another, they always seemed to be at opposite ends of the globe from each other.  Napoleon began to wonder if Waverly had some hand in it.

It was a week before Christmas and Napoleon wasn’t feeling very jolly. His arm, healing from a break, ached. Granny used to joke that she could forecast weather with her bunions.  Napoleon began to wonder if that would be his fate as well.  Plus he had a list of other aches and pains that kept him from focusing. 

He rubbed his forearm and made a face as he read the latest report. THRUSH was keeping them busier than ever and they seemed to only be gaining ground.

“Whatever happened to the white hats winning and saving the day?”

“Apparently the black hats pay better and offer cookies as an additional benefit.”

Napoleon’s head jerked up at the sound of Illya’s voice. The man looked the worse for wear and the bags under his eyes bespoke his exhaustion, but Napoleon didn’t care.  He wanted to bounce up and hug the man.  The incoming reports had not been looked good, but somehow Illya had managed to escape.  “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“If it was a cat, it is the only thing THRUSH didn’t throw at me.” Illya sank down into his desk chair, caught his breath and eased his weight into it.  At Solo’s smirk, he scowled.  “Don’t ask.”

“I won’t. How long?”

“How long what?” Illya leaned forward, his crossed arms on his blotter and rested his head on his arms.  “This is the stuff they don’t tell you about in Survival School.”

“How long are you stuck on a desk?”

Illya’s answer was a long sigh. “Too long, after the New Year.  You?”

“The same. Maybe the Old Man thinks we need a vacation.”

“He thinks I need a hospital stay.” Illya sat back and stared at the mail and assorted file folders littering his desk.

“Hey, I got an idea.”

“No, the last time you said that, I ended up floating on the wreckage of a freighter and you were being whisked away by our feathered friends.”

“You were presumed dead.” Napoleon felt it necessary to point out that missing fact.

Illya snorted. “Takes more than an exploding ship to kill me.”

“Anyhow, what do you say about this, we hole up in my place. I have an extra bedroom that you can have and we’ll just quietly let the world pass us by.”  A few minutes passed and Napoleon looked up from his task, thinking that perhaps Illya had chosen to ignore him.  He was amazed that Illya was asleep.  Even he knew better than to reach out and touch him.  “Illya?” he asked a bit louder.

“Go away.”

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Can’t. There’s no food there.”

“There’s plenty at my place.”

“’Kay.”

 

Napoleon was sitting in front of the fire, then radio softly playing Christmas carols when Illya came staggering out of the bedroom, wearing Napoleon’s old blue bathrobe.

“How did I get here?” he asked, dropping down into an armchair. Napoleon was delighted to not see any expression of discomfort now.

“Let’s see, first a taxi, then I half carried you to the elevator—“

“You know what I mean.”

“You needed the rest and didn’t want to go home.”

“I didn’t?”

“You said you had no food there.” Illya’s stomach gurgled obligingly at that point and Napoleon grinned.  “For what it’s worth, I have a full fridge and freezer.”

“I should go.” Illya ran a hand over his chin, surprised by the stubble.  “What…?

“You’ve been asleep for nearly two days. Merry Christmas Eve, by the way.  I sent someone over to your place for some clothes and toiletries yesterday.”  Napoleon had frowned when the Section 3 men arrived, a week’s worth of clothes stuffed into a scuffed and travel-worn suitcase.  At least Napoleon knew exactly what to give Illya for Christmas then.   “Why don’t you go and get cleaned up and I’ll put something together for dinner?”

Illya opened and closed his mouth, then turned and walked out. A moment later, Napoleon heard the shower running.  He nodded and slowly stood up.  He worked with an economy of movement, partially from the size and familiarity of his kitchen and part from stiffness.  Illya hadn’t been the only one THRUSH had kicked around.

He managed a simple marinara, although he was sure he could hear his grandmother moaning and thumping her chest over his using canned tomatoes. He pulled some frozen meatballs from the freezer and heated them up the oven.  He could hear Illya singing something, half in English and half in some other language and that made Napoleon grin. 

He’d gotten the bread toasted, the sauce finished and the spaghetti al dente when Illya reappeared, looking more like his partner and less like a walking corpse. Napoleon’s compliment came as Illya grinned at the table before him.

“This is incredible, Napoleon. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“This is pretty much the extent of my culinary skills, to be honest.” He gestured to a chair and took his usual spot.  He loved to sit here and look out upon the city, his city.  “Would you open the wine?”

“Of course.” Illya worked the corkscrew into the bottle, twisted and pulled.  The cork came out with a satisfying pop.  “I assume you aren’t on any pain killers.”

“Just aspirin at this point,” Napoleon said, holding out his glass. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you for everything, Napoleon.” Then Illya saw it - the wreath of ornaments that he’d given Napoleon the year before and his mouth dropped open.  “You kept it?”

“Of course!   A friend gave it to me.”  He chuckled as he portioned out the pasta.  “Seems funny how things have changed in just a year.”  He held out the plate and Illya took it, set it down and then leaned forward, catching Napoleon full on with a kiss and not the chaste kiss of a year before, but one that seemed to offer much more than mere gratitude.

Illya pulled away, his blue eyes twinkling, and there seemed a halo around his head or it might have been a trick of the lights from the Christmas tree. With an impish smile, Illya picked up his plate and returned to his spot.  He covered the pasta with sauce and then helped himself to two meatballs. 

“This is very good,” Illya said as he began eating.

“Uh…”

“Is anything wrong, Napoleon?”

“Uh…”

“More wine?”

“You kissed me.”

“You started it.”

“But that was a year ago.” Napoleon finally found his voice.

“I wanted to see how land laid before advancing.”

“A year, Kuryakin.”

“Do you know what THRUSH calls you, Napoleon? The Great Seducer.  They think you can charm any woman or man you set your sights on.  I needed to be sure it was just a spur of the moment act.”

“And?”

“Well, let’s see what happens after dinner. I’m always better at seducing with a full stomach.”

 

_1974_

 

After that, they were never apart for Christmas if they could help it. It was almost as if Mr. Waverly knew and understood.  They would have their traditional dinner of spaghetti and meatballs and then make love on the carpet in front of the fire. Then time started to catch up with them.  They still looked good and were in better shape than men half their age, but they were also smart.  Luck wouldn’t always be on their side.

Napoleon curled his fingers, clutching at the fabric and moaned. Illya moved inside him with a steady rhythm, bring him closer and closer to a massive orgasm with each stroke.  However, Napoleon had a lot riding on this.  Whoever came first had to do dishes and Napoleon was determined to win this time.

He’d been sure Illya would be a shy and submissive lover, but he was wrong. There was nothing shy or submissive about Illya.  He was as confident and capable in bed as he was on the firing range.  Two alpha males and there was nothing soft or tentative in their love making.  They loved passionately as if it was the last time, for many times, it might well be, especially now that Napoleon was out of the field and Illya worked alone, his back often unguarded. 

“Come for me, Napoleon,” Illya murmured, his fingers playing havoc with Napoleon’s penis. He squeezed, pinched, and caressed Napoleon just right.

Napoleon groaned and then pumped into Illya’s fist. He ejaculated with a cry and then felt Illya pick up the pace, coming just a minute after him.

“Damn it, Illya. I almost had it that time.” Napoleon flopped back, his penis flaccid and limp against his thigh.

“Yes, you did.” Illya licked the sweat from Napoleon’s forehead, then kissed it.  “Another minute more and I would have been lost.”  He wiped his hand off on a convenient towel and then reached for a wine glass.  He passed it to his lover and then picked up his.  “Merry Christmas, Napoleon.”

“Merry Christmas.” They touched glasses and then Illya set his back now.  “I have something for you.”

“It isn’t Christmas yet, Illya.” Napoleon consulted his watch.  “We still have an hour.”

“Close enough.” Illya handed him a carefully-wrapped gift and Napoleon sat up.  He shook it.

“What is it?”

“Open it and find out.” Illya wiggled like a kid about to get out for summer vacation.

Inside the long narrow box was a roll of paper, encircled with a woven gold cord. Smiling, Napoleon unrolled the sheet, read it, frowned and read it again.  “You’re kidding?  Right?”

“No, Napoleon, it’s my resignation from field work. It’s no fun without you and it’s only a time before THRUSH gets that one lucky break.”

“Does Mr. Waverly know?”

“He does. He seemed happy.”

“You will be leaving then?” Napoleon fought to keep his voice level, but it started to crack.

“Leave? Why would I leave?”

“Your commitment…”

“My commitment to the Soviet Union was fulfilled long ago. I was granted citizenship early this month.  I am as committed to UNCLE as ever and to you always.”

 

_1984_

 

It was hard to beat that Christmas. It was the one Napoleon benchmarked all others against.  Slowly, more and more of Illya’s possessions ended up at Napoleon’s place and it only made sense to release Illya’s apartment to another agent.  They kept two bedrooms for show, but they rarely slept apart. 

Napoleon found himself falling in love with Illya as he had been that first Christmas every time he carefully unwrapped his ornament wreath. Another circle around the sun complete, another year of love completing him.

He was cleaning up the bathroom when he found the containers of dirt. They were moist and the smell of earth brought back so many memories for him of being back home with his parents and family.   That part of his life seemed so very far away now.

Napoleon inhaled again and smiled at those old memories. They had both been so alive then.  However, that didn’t answer the question of what they were doing here.

“Illya, I found some dirt in the bathroom.”

Illya looked up from his bowl of cereal, his glasses clutching the end of his nose for dear life. He rescued them by pushing them back up into place. “There is a myriad of answers, all more sarcastic than the last, so I will instead pump you for additional information.”

“I thought that’s what you did last night,” Napoleon answered absent mindedly and smiled as Illya mock choked on his cereal. “I found some containers of dirt.”

“Oh, those, sorry. I brought them home because Hatch was running an experiment and needed to keep them under observation.  I’ll take them back with me on Monday.”

“What is he hatching? No pun intended.”

“No idea.”

Christmas Eve was a snowy affair. The power went out, but they had candles and a fireplace.  While the rest of the penthouse cooled, the living room stayed warm.  Their love making had slowed now, but not their passion for each other.  That still burned bright.

Illya pulled a blanket close around him and stood slowly, wincing. “I’ll be right back.”  He returned a moment later carrying two containers.  Napoleon frowned, then recognized them as the ones he’d found earlier in the month. 

“Is Hatch gone again? That man takes more vacations than anyone I know.”

“Well, that was a bit of a white lie. Merry Christmas, Napoleon.”  Illya passed them over.  “You are one of the hardest men to shop for that I’ve ever known.”

“Grass? You are giving me grass?”

“Well, technically božićna pšenica. It’s Christmas Wheat.  Many of the Slavic countries have traditions that involve winter wheat.  In Croatia, they plant the wheat on December 4th, as it’s believed that the taller the wheat grows, the more prospers the coming year will be.  Usually they harvest it on Christmas Eve and tie it with a ribbon, but I thought I’d let it grow.”

Napoleon ran his hand over the tops of the green shoots. “It reminds me of home, but in the summer when we would hay.  It always smelled so sweet,” he said finally smiling at the memory.   “Remember that time you found me in that field of wheat?   I had half of THRUSH looking for me and they were turning up empty handed, but not you.”

“I had more invested than they did. Do you know I can’t see wheat now and not think of that?  Acres and acres of wheat and yet there you were.  Tired, dirty and roughed up, but just fine.”

“And then we went on to blow up their headquarters and set them back a few pegs.” Napoleon laughed at the memory of them, running, the explosion setting the night on fire.  They went to the top of THRUSH’s hit list after that.  Not that it matter, not that it ever mattered.

“Thank you. You never cease to surprise me.”

“And I hope I never will.”

 

_Now_

 

Soft lips pressed against his and Napoleon blinked, waking himself from his stupor. “It’s hard when you get old,” he murmured.  “All you want to do is sit and doze.”

“So says the man who walks a mile before breakfast and plays the back nine before lunch.” Illya Kuryakin leaned over him, smiling affectionately.  While they had both aged, it was Illya who seemed to sip from the Fountain of Youth.  Only now were lines starting to appear in the corners of his eyes and silver in his still blond hair.  Napoleon didn’t carry his age as well, but Illya didn’t seem to mind.

Napoleon sat up and stretched, arching his back. “What time is it?”

“Late. I’m sorry.  Were you worried?”

“No, you’re a man who can take care of himself.” Napoleon gestured to the ornament wreath.  “Remember that?”

“Intimately.” Illya smiled fondly and settled down beside his lover of so many years.  “I have something for you.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard that line,” Napoleon joked, adjusting the blankets over their laps.

“Well, I’m not as young as I used to be.” Illya held out a small box.

“Nor are you as old as you are going to be.” Napoleon opened and stopped.  “Illya, are these what I think they are?”  He carefully removed one of the matching rings and held it up.  The firelight danced over the gleaming gold surface.  “They are wedding bands.”

“They are. You’ve been a kept man for far too long.”  Illya slid the ring onto Napoleon’s left ring finger.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes. Otherwise, we are going to disappoint the man at the courthouse and all our friends, not to mention the hotel… and the plane tickets…”

“You’re rather sure of yourself, Kuryakin.”

“Since the first time you kissed me, Solo.”

Now it was probably just a trick of the lights, but Napoleon could have sworn that the ornament wreath winked at him as Illya leaned in for another kiss. But that would just be silly. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
